The Black Dog on the Grounds
by Silverswaninthemoonlight
Summary: Lily Luna Potter, a shy quiet young witch has finally arrived in Hogwarts, fed up with hearing everybody in her family talking about their adventures there and eager to begin her own. But she realizes Hogwarts is not what she expected at all when she is not placed into the house she was sure that she'd be placed in. And what's with the strange Black Dog, she keeps seeing?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs and everything else belongs to our Queen, JK Rowling!**

** Chapter 1: Beechwood**

_This is a story about Harry Potter's Daughter, Lily Luna Potter. She is eleven years old and coming to Hogwarts for the first time. I decided to have made her mature from the perky, bubbly little nine year old we all saw and fell in love with on Platform 9 and 3/4 in the epilogue of Harry Potter 7, to a more quiet, thoughtful, solemn, shy eleven year old. But don't think her shyness means she's a pushover. She makes a perfectly good job of making it clear that she has a mind of her own, if I do say so myself. I have scoured Harry Potter wikia to make sure my post-Harry Potter novel is as accurate as possible. I have done my best to make sure that I have gotten my facts straight. If not, please tell me which character's fate I muddled in the comments/reviews and I will set about to correcting it._

I gazed out the window of my compartment. So here it was. Finally. After waiting for eleven long years that seemed like forever, after eleven yeas of hearing my family members telling me incredible stories that made my bones ache with a longing to go, after four years of hearing my older brother's confirmations about it being as wonderful as everybody said it was, I was going to Hogwarts.

I looked down at my wand in my lap and realized that my finger had been absentmindedly stroking it back and forth. Every time I saw it my heart seemed to turn a back somersault. Whether this was because I was so excited to have a wand of my own after jealously coveting my brothers for so long, or perhaps it was simply the childish, petty joy that I am sure many young witches and wizards before and after my time have felt gazing at their wand, and being faced with the realization, no matter how many times they have found before, (I confess without the slightest bit of shame that I had become rather addicted to the rush of energy my heart gained every time it found it) that they are on their journey to becoming a mature witch or wizard.

I was incredibly proud of my wand's appearance. Although I confess that this was a rather petty act of conceit, I can't help but console (and at the same time feel a bit foolish) of the fact that every other eleven year old witch and wizard on the train, with a smidgit of self-esteem's feelings for their own wand had little difference from mine.

My instrument was beechwood, unicorn tail hair, fifteen and a half inches, unyielding. I couldn't wait to use it and perhaps this was just my tendency to believe in things that didn't necessarily happen (a fault of my overactive imagination,a trait to this day I must lament I don't know who I got from, my parents being the solid, practical people that they were) but I would have sworn on my Uncle Fred's grave that I could feel it pulsating, sensing the raw, unprocessed magical ability in myself and desperately desiring to channel it.

I wondered why I was sitting all alone in a compartment. Cousin Hugo had invited me to join his friends but for a reason unknown to myself at the time, I wanted to sit alone. Of course, this was not at all how one had imagined my journey to Hogwarts. Harry Potter's daughter. I should have been sitting in a crowded compartment, filled to the brim with new friends, laughing and joking. Yet... I wanted to be alone. It would be a very long time before I thoroughly realized the reason why.

Part of me already knew why I had wanted to be alone. I didn't want to make any new friends until after the sorting. In my mind, there really was no point in talking to people and getting all chummy, and then watching them get sorted into a different house and rarely speak to them again. Although Aunt Hermione was always telling everybody that students should try for inter-house unity, I was yet to realize the significance of her words. My brother James had confessed to me that the students had a tendency to hang out within their own houses. He was the one who advised me not to make friends until after the sorting. Me being an eleven years old with no idea of the world of Hogwarts except for the stories I had heard, and who believed that since my brother was four years my senior, he _must_ be older and wiser, I believed him. I love my brother very much but I must admit that I feel some foolishness whenever I remember believing his words now.

"If you hang out with kids in your other house too much, people might start to think that you don't want to be in Gryffindor. You don't want 'em thinkin that now, do you?"

"NO" I replied fiercely. There's nowhere else I'd rather be in Gryffindor! I want to be in Gryffindor just like Mummy and Daddy, and everybody else in the family" (I was nine at the time)

However, my certainty that I was going to be a Gryffindor had lasted throughout the years. Everybody in my family had been one. If there was somebody who wasn't, then to this day I am still unaware of it. Despite the fact that my father was constantly telling me about the unpredictability of which house to which I'd be chosen, I was convinced that I was going to be a Gryffindor. I have discovered ever since then, that some things you have to discover for yourself, despite the number of times it has been told you you. My father seemed to believe so himself because he flatly refused to tell me the exact procedure by which I'd have been chosen. When James and Albus came home from school, he had forbidden them to tell me and he was vigilant about not revealing them to me by accident, as were the rest of the family.

"There's something exciting about realizing just how you are going to be sorted when your in the Great Hall" said Uncle Ron.

However, I thought it was incredibly unfair of my father to do this to me, particularly as he had revealed the information to Albus before he joined. (don't ask me how I knew. I Just did) Dad allways did seem to favor Albus over me and James. To this very day, I still feel a pang of jealousy and resentment deep within my chest, although the agony isn't quite as strong and fierce as it once was. It has dulled over the years from a strong, stinging, raw pain, to a slow, steady,ache)  
Perhaps, the reason why me father favored Albus was because he was the only one of us who had inherited his eyes. To me, this seemed like an act of incredible vanity and conceit. Favoring a child because he had inherited your most desirable characteristic. I hadn't yet realized whose eyes they really were. But even as I think about it, I cannot help but bring myself to wonder: is it still alright for my father to show favoritism?

My brother may have inherited my gran's eyes, but I inherited her name. I do not think that I would have found myself objecting to the inheritance of her eyes, but genetics is the one thing that wizards cannot control. That's muggle stuff. I believe that James was learning about that kind of stuff in Muggle studies. I would have to ask him about it sometimes. Instead I had my mother's bright brown eyes, which helped me see in front of my nose just as fine as green ones would and her bright red hair, which at the moment was tied into what Mum called, two slim, rat-tails.

I was rather nervous about entering Hogwarts. This was nothing to be ashamed of, as evey other first year on the Hogwarts Express felt the same, but I found myself with an extra pound placed on my back. You see, I had many expectations to live up to: Lily Luna Potter, daughter of Harry Potter, the only survivor of the Avada Kedavra curse, defeater of the Dark Wizard VOldemort, and head of the Auror office as well as Ginny Weasley, former Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and Senior Quidditch Correspondent, Neice of Ron Weasley, who helped Harry Potter on his quest to destroy Horcruxes, Hermione Granger who (in addition to the latter's brains whose reputation as the brightest witch her age while she was in Hogwarts was stuff of legend as much as my father's conquest), sister of James Potter (best chaser on the Gryffindor team) and Albus Potter. Yes, I certainly had a lot to prove.

Everybody was expecting so much of me and part of me wanted to please them. My father had said that I was named after my late Grandmother, an incredible witch, and not to let her down. My Gran was apparently very popular during her days at Hogwarts. I am quite proud to say that I was quite proud to have her name. I wanted to carve a name for myself, to carve a great path worthy of the Weasley and Potter name, and to add to the legacy of the Potter family. In addition to everything that I have said before, I was the first female Potter born in seven generations, (and seven was the most powerful number in all of wizardry so everybody was expecting something something of me and watching my every move with somewhat baited breath) I was bred from two incredible families, a fine example of selective breeding in the wizarding world.

And yet...a part of me didn't want to be Lily Luna Potter. I didn't want t greatness or recognition. I didn't want to come to Hogwarts, bathed in glory, and leave behind a blaze of it when I graduated. I just wanted to be-well-myself. Everything about me, from my family, to my appearancscreamed "This witch is headed for greatness!" But I didn't want to be set up for greatness. I wanted to find my way like everybody else. I wanted to be well liked for who _I_ was, not my family.

My own name didn't make anything easier. My grandmother was something of a legend back at Hogwarts judging by what Albus and James told me. My dad had yet to disclose to me how she died. It was clear that my father had picked out the names for me and my brothers. Often, I felt bad for Mum, for not lettig me have a say in my name, but considering that this was the woman who named Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's owl "Pigwidgeon", I felt somewhat relieved afterward. But my Mum confided in me that she always wanted to name me Louella. I allways wondered why she had let my Dad name my siblings and I. My Mum was the most stubborn person in the world. If she wanted to have her way, she would be prepared to argue with my Dad for hours on end about it. So why was she sch a pushover for something so important as her children's name? It was a very long time before I realized the reason. Very very long. I was young and impulsive then and I was still a bit alien to the concept of empathy as many children my age, wizard or muggle, are. But I digress,. Somehow, a bizarre and odd name would certainly have sounded better to me then. For then, at least, I would be able to make an identity for myself out of it. It is veryhard to create an identity for yourself whenyou have a name that once belonged to someone else's. Everywhere I went, people kept on thinking "There goes Lily Potter, named after her mother. How could I make a name for myself, when my name already was giving it all to somebody else. I highly doubt that thoses of you who were born with your own name will understand what I mean. Perhaps those who were named after somebody won't either. I wasn't completely clear of what I was feeling myself.

I had decided that once I reached school, I would ask my peers and teachers to call me Lily Luna, my first name and my middle name. That too, was a hand me down from a great witch. My Auntie Luna; a very close friend of my Mum and Dad's and a very famous naturalist. She had discovered a vast amount of species that everybody thought were imaginary, and had even written a book of her travels which was on the first year's book list. Yet another name for myself to live up to. But in a similar manner of two negatives making a positive, the combination of the two names gave me an identity of my own. But was this going to be possible. Could I go to school as Lily Luna? Or would I be spending my school days, as "Lily Potter, daughter of Harry Potter?"


	2. Chapter 2

As The Hogwarts Express rolled through the countryside, my thoughts turned to Gwyneth Sands, a muggle girl who lived in Godric's Hollow next to me and my family. Her Mother ran a pastry shop and her father owned a small bar. She had dark blond hair that fell to her shoulders, and bright blue, inquisitive eyes. She was the same age as I was and for as long as I could remember, we had been friends. Up until I went to Hogwarts, she was the only friend I had and I was the only one of her's. She was very shy and had a difficulty talking to new people. But once you dug past the thick, fragile layer of silence, you found a curious, outspoken, determined, lively, affable, interesting, imaginative, and extraordinary human being. I couldn't ever remember when our friendship had struck up. It just seemed to be a natural part of my life. As natural as my brothers and our garden.

Gwyneth also knew that I was a wizard and so were my family. The reason for this was because when we were seven, my parents made the mistake of bringing her on a family outing to the burrow. Grandad Weasley nearly fainted from excitement and before he could stop him, he had began firing a series of questions about muggle lifestyle at her. Gwyneth would have had to have been a very very thick girl in order to believe that my family was normal after hearing my Grandfather's questions. My parents told her that my Granddad's mind was going and she seemed to be satisfied. However, the next time we were alone, she quietly asked me if my family was magical. My heart stopped. Even at seven years old, I was terrified that she would have found out and that the ministry of magic would come and cart my family off to Azkaban. I begged her not to tell anybody to the point where I was on the verge of tears. Gwyneth calmly agreed that it would be secret that she would take to the grave. More so, I was more concerned that I would lose my best friend because she thought I was a freak just like how my Great-Aunt Petunia shunned my Grandmum when she learned that she was a witch. But I was yet to realize that not all muggles were my Great-Aunt Petunia. Gwyneth merely laughed and said "Why would I want to stop being your friend? I would be really stupid to give up a wizard's friendship!" from that day onwards, our friendship became stronger. I could now confide to her everything about myself. We made sure not to tell my parents or brothers, although we have had some close calls.

Gwyneth was fascinated by the wizard world. She would listen for hours on end to my explanations about the Ministry of Magic and Wandlore and Currency. Even the most soul-sucking subjects like My Uncle Percy's Broomstick regulations were enough to make Gwyneth go dewy-eyed. It partly amused me,and partly annoyed me.

Most of all, Gwyneth was fascinated by Hogwarts. She was amazed of the idea of a school full of wizards and witches. I could tell her stories about it for hours on end, with her hanging onto every single word. She made very clear that I left out no detail of my parent's and brother's stories and everytime I learned something new about it, I'd rush to tell her. "

"Is this why you don't go to the local school?" she asked me. She had more than once inquired about my absence there, too which I'd murmer gibberish under my breath and change the subject.

"Because you go to Hogwarts when you are older?"

I nodded. Eventually, I became close enough to Gwyneth to reveal to her my biggest fear: that I would become a squib. A muggle born to a wizard family. When I told her this, she snorted and cried out

"Don't be silly Lily! You are magical! I know you are! I can feel it!"

"But I'm nine years old and I haven't shown any signs of magic at all!"

" Well then let's see if we can start coaxing some magic out of you!" she cried.

And so began our daily training and exercises in order to bring my magic to the surface. Every day when Gwyneth returned from school, she'd run over to my house and we'd go to the backyard. Gwyneth would try and make me do simple tricks such as moving a rock some feet away from me. We'd sit, cross kneed like little statues, with me concentrating on a rock as hard as I could and Gwyneth positively goading me on. Sometimes we'd spend hours on end participating in this ritual without the rock moving so much as a smidgit. But unlike the moon, Gwyneth's confidence never waned once. As night fell, she'd help me to my feet, and tell me enthusiastically that it was alright that I had not done it but that I would soon. She could feel it deep inside her bones. And on that fateful day when I finally made the rock fly three feet away from me in a motion not unlike that of a frog hopping, she shrieked with glee, danced around in a circle, and threw her arms around me all while shrieking "I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT LILY I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!"  
But I would not have been able to do so without her. Had she not been pushing me to my limit, forcing me to practice, encouraging me hopefully and optimistically I do not thinking that I would have shown signs of magic as quickly. "How peculiar is it that I needed a muggle to help me use magic!" I had thought then and I told her so.

It was only in later years that I realized how inconsiderate I was to poor Gwyneth. Although my family wasn't one of those conceited ones who praise themselves on their blood ancestry and refuse to have anything to do with muggles, I have come to see over the years that there is more than one way to look down on muggles. I gradually developed a false sense of self-righteousness about being a wizard with a muggle friend and began to act as though I was her superior (although this was an act of self-consciousness) Whenever I was in her presence I would make it very clear to her how fortunate she was to have a wizard friend and how very few wizards associated with muggles. I was always talking about how wonderful wizarding life would be, not even once stopping to consider how she felt knowing that she was not like that. In the metaphorical sense, I was always painting a beautiful picture above her head that she could never even hope to reach. Many a time I would just sit there and wave the image above her head while she stared on wistfully. Whenever she tried to talk to me about her own life I would more often than not say "Oh really, do _all_ muggles do that or just _your family?"_ I made it seem as though she was inferior to me, behaving in a condescending manner. I never once considered that I was making her feel bad, telling her about how wonderful wizarding life was and how she'd never experience it for herself, how boring her life would be in comparison to mine. When I finally arrieved at Hogwarts, one of the many things that I'd learn there besides Transfiguration and Potions, was that magic is not a guarantee of character and that Gwyneth was more deserving of it than many of my classmates. And of all the things I said to her, what I regret the most is my declaration of how cool my friends at Hogwarts would think of me when I went to Hogwarts (whenever I gained enough self-confidence to imagine the possibility that I would go) This probably made her feel as though I didn't value her friendship half as much as I should have and that I considered her as nothing more that a souvenir from my life before Hogwarts. For of all the notions I may have put into Gwyneth's head, never once did I give her one that I would miss her when I was gone.

I'll never forget as long as I live Gwyneth's reaction when I showed her my Hogwarts letter. She burst into tears and flung her arms around me like a lasso. She buried her face into my shoulder like a shovel and sobbed so heavily, that I could feel the entire weight of her body collapsing on me every time she heaved. She stopped crying long enough to let out a long, breathless barrage of words that tumbled out of her mouth (which she seemed more desperate of getting out of than making sure I understood). "_I knew you would get in, Lily. I new you would! I told you that you'd go to Hogwarts and you didn't believe me and now you are! I bet you are feeling silly about all your worrying because you were all wrong! I knew it! I'm going to miss you so much but you are going to become the greatest witch Hogwarts will ever teach!_". I was surprised, startled, and puzzled. Nobody in my _family_ had reacted like that when I'd gotten my letter. My Mum and Dad had beamed like mad and my brothers affectionately clamped me on the shoulder, a rare moment in which they treated me as an equal member of their secret society composed only of Potter brothers. My Aunts and Uncles had given me hugs and said congratulations, while reminiscing about their own reactions to getting their letters and celebrated by treating me and Cousin Hugo (who got his letter at around the same time) to ice cream. Even Granny Weasley, who's emotions were as wild and unpredictable as the weather pushed me into a bear crushing hug, but never actually cried. The only person who ever cried when she learned about my letter was Gwyneth. It was only through my reflecting on the train as I watched the fields and streams whiz by in a blur of color, that I finally came to the dim, vague understanding that Gwyneth was not just crying out of joy that I was accepted, happiness on my behalf, and because she would miss me. She was also crying out of envy. That was the first time I realized just how cruel I had been to her. That wonderful human being never once before that, objected to my treatment of her, nor did she give me any reason to believe that she was unsatisfied with my friendship.

*Gwyneth died in a car crash along with her parents in my seventh year. Thinking about her reactivates a wound on my heart. It is an old wound and has been there for a considerable amount of years The sharp intense pain that I once felt has dulled to a slow, dull, pounding monotonous ache, slowing me down, distracting me from my daily routine, forcing me to find a way to live with it. Just when I start to think of her, believing that the wound has healed, I can feel jolting pains racing up and down and my heart feels like it will burst. That's when I know that it's still there. It will always be there.


	3. Chapter 3

"Excuse me?" said a voice that cut into my losing myself in the thought process.

"Is this compartment full? Everywhere else is jam-packed."

"Uhm, sure" I responded automatically.

I looked up at my new fellow compartment resident. It was a girl, who like me was a first year. I could tell, due to the fact that the inside of her robes (which she had already changed into) were black and not any house's primary color. She was slightly pudgy, with hair that sloped down her back in the form of two, wrist-thick plaits of honey blond. She had narrow, almost-Asian-like powder-blue eyes (which in my honest, (yet not entirely polite) opinion) seemed to lack a proper balance of proportion to the rest of her face.

Her face itself maintained a roundness that I had only thought possible to exist in cartoon characters* and her cheeks were so round and puffy, that I was not entirely unconvinced that she had the Mumps** Her central top-teeth appeared to protrude outward in a very slightly, yet incredibly noticeable manner. Overall, her facial features resulted in her striking resemblance to a chipmunk.

"My name's Janey. Janey MacDuff What's yer's?" she asked. I had just finally begun to complete my analysis of her outer appearance (a rather inconsiderate trait in myself at the time) So therefore, I officially discovered that she had an Irish accent

"Oh my name is Lily...Luna. My name is Lily Luna."

"With a hyphen?"

"Er-no. Um...anyways, I-I suppose you're from Scotland"

"Born and bred in Glasgow meself. Accent gave me away. eh?"

"Yes. It sort of did. Are you excited? To go to Hogwarts I mean."

"Reckon you'd 'ave to be barkin mad not to be. I've been waitin' fer this moment fer' as long as I could remember. Really got used to it. It'll almost be kind of wierd not dreamin' about goin' to Hogwarts anymore, now that I'm finally goin'. It almost leaves a hole in me heart. Feels like it anyways. It's funny how when you get so used to something, even if it's not particularly a good thing, you miss it when it's gone."

And on and on Janey chattered, about how she had become so accustomed to yearning for the arrival of her Hogwarts letter, that she had almost no idea how to react when she got it. It's not a ridiculous theory that she would have gone on chattering about the subject until the end of time, provided that all the factors responsible for cutting off her little speech were removed from the equation.

I however, found that I could not wait for these factors to catch up with her, and halted her conversation by my own means.

"So, you said that you had been waiting your whole life for your Hogwarts letter. Does that mean that you're from a wizard family?"

"Not particularly. I mean, both of my parents were wizards, and so are a lot of people in my family. But I've got a fair amount of muggle relatives as well. I don't think anybody in my family who's a wizard is pureblood. Mostly we're all halfbloods and muggleborns. You'll find just as many muggles in my family tree as wizards, if not more. Family reunions are quite crazy" she grinned, fondly reminiscing the presumed bizarreness and hilarity ensuing when muggles and wizards combined.

Then, just as though somebody had flicked a light switch*** her fond grin was replaced by a defensive scowl.

"And I'm proud of having muggles in my family to. I wouldn't trade them for a billion galleons. You aren't from one of those stupid wizard families who think they're all that an' a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans just because everyone in their familiy's a wizard. _Do you_?" She emitted a slight growl as she recited these last two words.

"No..not at all!" I said surprised. I assure you that it was not out of conceit that I was not upset that she didn't recognize me as Harry Potter's daughter, but I was just rather accusomed to it. But now was my chance to take advantage of the situation.

"I'm actually a half-blood myself. My Grandmum was a Muggleborn. And my best friend is a muggle too."

As I said this, I unbuttoned my sweater revealing a bubble-gum pink cardigan beneath it*.

Janey's hostile face quickly subsided back into it's naturally plump and cheerful one.

"OK good. Know yer house yet?"

"Oh, I'm going to be in Gryffindor. Everybody in my family is!"

"So was me Mam"

"What about you? Do you want to be in Gryffindor like your parents too?"

"Not really. Me Dad was a Hufflepuff. Mam was a Gryffindor"

"I guess you're not sure which Parent's footsteps you want to follow in then?"

"Nah. Don't want to be in neither"

"You don't?" I had rather taken for granted the typical desire for First Years like me to desire their parents house. The notion that a student might not want to do so was rather shocking to myself.

"Well, in me family it's not just one house. We got loads of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Even got a couple Slytherins 'ere an' there. But as far as I can tell, we ain't got to Ravenclaws. That's the house I'm aimin' fer"

"Do you want to be the one who breaks the tradition?"

"Partly. It would be nice to be the first Ravenclaw in the family. Also..." For the first time since our meeting, Janey had trailed off in a sentence.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah it's just...will you promise not to laugh?"

"Of course"

"Well... nobody in my family-or my friends...think that I'm very clever. I don't blame them either. I'm really clumsy, I can't remember anything...and I don't think I have a knut's worth of common sense inside me skull! But...if I was put in Ravenclaw...maybe...just maybe, I might prove to everybody...that I've got a brain"

She sat staring at me for thirty seconds (a lengthy silence in her standards)

She turned red as a beet and hung her head.

"I know it's stupid but...I'm just tired of being the butt of all jokes in me family"

"I don't think it's stupid"

Janey's head elevated and a hint of brightness was detected creeping into her face.

"You don't?"

"No. I know what it's like to have a lot to prove. And I know what it's like to have it feel like everything is working against you too. I understand your need to prove yourself to your family. I'm the youngest in my family with two brothers. "

And for the rest of the train ride there, me and Janey talked about our future houses, gorged ourselves on chocolate frogs, and swapped embarrassing tales about our brothers. Janey had seven to my two. Goodness! And I thought I had it rough! And although we had only known each other for a meager handful of hours, I knew in my heart, that Janey and I would be friends for life.

* Growing up with muggles, we, like many other wizard familes decided to possess a few muggle electronics (a type of muggle magical artifact) in order to blend in with the Muggle community. One such artifact is a television, a sort of crystal ball in which we can view infinite realities, each one different from our world, sometimes slightly, sometimes drastically. We can also watch certain characters lives in these worlds (unbeknownst to them) at different periods in the day. One such type of reality is called cartoons. In which you view worlds in which the residents have a rather artificial, appearance about them. It really is quite fascinating, but be warned: it's dangereously addictive. My brothers and I could watch these different realities for hours on end.

**A muggle disease in which people's cheeks inflate.

*In the wizarding community, vivid pinks are sort of like rainbows to gay people. They basically convey rather punky, muggle-pride messages like"I've got a muggle for a father and I'm proud of it" or "Yes, I've got muggle blood and no I'm NOT ashamed of it at all" or simply muggle tolerance.


	4. Chapter 4

After what seemed like an eternity of chocolate frogs later, I could sense the train slowing to a standstill.

"Janey!" I cried racing to the window, while at the same time alerting my comrade (who had fallen into a rather lengthy slumber)

"What's going on?" she muttered drowsily.

"We're here! Oh, we're here at last! I can see the castle!"

It was as though I had uttered a rejuvanation curse on her. All her slumber collapsed from her body. Glavanized, she raced toward the window.

"Oh! It's beautiful! It's so beautiful!"

"I can't believe I'm seeing it for the first time! It feels so warm and familiar! It's like I'm meeting a relative who I haven't seen since I was a baby! "

"It's a sight to feast yer eyes on ain't it?"

"It certainly is!"

To describe the sight Hogwarts castle for the first time ever would be like trying to invoke a visual image of a rainbow's grandeur to somebody visually impaired. It would be like trying to describe a melody to a person who's hearing was faulty or the falling of snow to a desert-dweller. It is simply impossible! I could spend the rest of this story trying to describe the awe and grandeur of the castle, and I still wouldn't have conveyed the image properly.

I think it is best to simply let some things lie as they are, dear reader. I am sure most of you have already seen Hogwarts for yourselves and do not require my assistance in visualizing the original view of Hogwarts. To those young wizards, who are yet to recieve your Hogwarts letter, fear not. You shall soon find out for yourself in a few years. I never was one to particularly pre-expose people to my experiences. I find that it is usually better to experience something wonderful without a predisposition. Wonderful things are best experienced unprepared.

The ext dew seconds were carried out in a whirlwind of joy and exhilaration. This may have been a tad bit too much, because as a side effect of all these positive feelings, I have discovered the large spaces in my memory of the experience. Perhaps in an opposing manner to the mind meticulously remembering every single detail experienced in an unhappy moment, the mind tends to blank out large spaces of enjoyable events. It is not mad to conclude (at least, I shouldn't think it is) that this occurs as a counterbalance or a complement to negative memories. Or a simpler explanation would be that I am just getting on a bit. In either case, I seem have no recollection of the events involving my eviction from the train. Perhaps my head is just so full of memories that I've started pushing some old ones out to make room.

But I digress. Continuing the events inscribed in my memory, following it thought for thought, regardless of the blanks, my next recollection begins outside the train, standing next to Janey, as well as a bunch of other first years. We were all gazing up in awe and wonder at the massive behemoth towering over us. he was a large bearded man in a moleskin coat that would have no doubt succeeded in covering every single one of us, had he chosen to expel it off of himself. In his right hand, he carried a lantern. I may as well add for visualization's sake, that we were all standing on the banks of the Black Lake.

Back to the topic at hand about the lummox before us, I felt absolutely nothing, nor did I share a single feeling that everybody besides me was experiencing. I had already experienced it a considerable time ago. For me, I knew this man quite well. His name (and I'm sure all of you whose parents have attended Hogwarts know) was-

"Hagrid!" I squealed in sheer joy. There is nothing quite so comforting and joyful to a child, as the sight of a well-known adult in a strange, new place.

I pushed my way to the front of the students, and encompassed (or perhaps the more accurate term in this particular situation calls for the use of the verb "quarter-encompassed" my arms around him. I could feel myself being pulled into a returning embrace that nearly dented my spine.

"Hiya, Lily!" grinned my old friend.

"I missed you!" I squealed. In my delight at encountering one of my parent's dearest friends (who we weren't related to by blood) I had forgotten to bring to Hagrid's attention my resolution to be henceforth referred to using my middle name in addition to my first.

"How's yer Mum and Dad" Grinned Hagrid.

"Busy and good" I replied promptly. I replied in this manner due to fear that Hagrid would reveal my parentage to my fellow First Years. I didn't want the first thing about myself that they would carry off with them, to be my bloodline. Then my hope for creating an identity for myself outside them, would be dashed.

"Everybody get into a boat, no more' an four in each" shouted Hagrid, dismissing myself for the moment. I silently excreted a relief-packed sigh.


End file.
